ratherastory tweeted to ask for Stiles/Danny cross-dressing. DELIVERED.
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“M! C! C! A! L! L! What does that spell? MCCALL! MCCALL! MAAAAAAAAH-CALL!”
“Cheerleader for Team McCall?” Danny asked behind him, voice strained. “Really? Aren’t you supposed to be playing? You know, since you’re on the team and all.”
Stiles finished his cartwheel, narrowly missed knocking himself out on the edge of the bench, and turned to grin at his boyfriend. “Coach said every time he lets me play someone almost dies, so I got permission to wear a costume for Halloween. What do you think?” Rising up on tip-toe, Stiles twirled, fast enough to make his skirt flare out, pom poms shimmying.
Danny’s eyes ran down Stiles, taking in the red and black cheerleader ensemble. When they reached his ankles, they started back up again. He swallowed and gripped his helmet close to his side. “You look good.”
“I feel good.” Stiles grinned wider. Beacon Hills was usually okay about things, but not okay enough that he could cross-dress regularly. Halloween was his night to shine.
Damned if he wasn’t going to take advantage of it.
Putting on the twist of his heels that made his hips sway, Stiles took a step closer to Danny. One. Then a second. By the third Danny realized what was going on and tried to back away, but Stiles already had a fist wrapped in his collar and was dragging him into a kiss. Danny made a muffled noise of protest, and Stiles answered by pressing in closer. After a moment Danny relaxed. One of his hands settled at the small of Stiles’ back, pushing up the tiny vest until his fingers could brush skin. His helmet hit the ground.
“Mahealani!” Coach’s voice shattered the moment. “Enough with the foreplay! Get your ass on the field!”
“Coming!” Danny shouted back, eyes glazed and red lipstick smeared over his mouth. He turned to jog onto the field, and was stopped by Stiles’ hand still wrapped in his jersey.
“Not yet.” Ducking down, Stiles scooped up the dropped helmet and shoved it in Danny’s chest with a grin. “Halftime. Bleachers. Me, you, kneepads.”
Danny gaped. Looked down at his helmet, then back up at Stiles. Took a breath. “You’re an asshole, Stilinski. I hate you.”
“You love me.” Stiles pecked him on the cheek, leaving a less-vivid but still visible lipstick print. While Danny was still reeling, he turned him around and gave him a shove toward the huddle. “Go get ‘em, big boy.”
“Hate you! Hate!” Danny grumbled, jogging away with an awkward hitch in his step. In the middle of the field, Scott was bent over laughing, and Liam was hiding his face in shame. Coach, as always, just looked irritated.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Stiles shouted, “Love you too, Snugglebunny!”
He was so going to get it later.
Worth it.